Home For Christmas
by Agni xx
Summary: Christmas is a time of joy, family, laughter and ...hospitals? When Peter gets injured by a suspicious van with New Jersey plates and stuck in the hospital, what happens to Neal? Can he crack the case or is he going back to prison?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! So, new story. This is just something I started abruptly without a clue as to where it was going, so you know just about as much as I do at this point. I've got at least two more chapters typed up so far , so I should be able to update once-a-day until Sunday at least. I have a vague idea as to where this is going, but we'll see if anything changes. This IS a case fic, though. At least in part. **

**Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!**

Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas are the rights to this show. And considering that I'm asking for them means I obviously don't have them. Darn.

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"Oh come on, Peter. It's the holiday season!"

Peter and Neal had been wandering around downtown all day, through the hustle and bustle of last-minute Christmas shoppers; all the eager masses of sale-happy, shop-frenzy maniacs that came out in abundance during the holiday season.

"Exactly." he deadpanned. They were still on the clock, but the trail they had been following had gone cold hours ago and he didn't think they would be catching a break anytime soon.

Neal gasped dramatically. "And here I thought we were friends!"

Peter shook his head, grumbling, and stuck his hands deeper into his pockets, hunching his shoulders to ward off the cold. "How can you possibly be so cheerful at..." he moved to check his watch before realizing that doing so would require him to remove his hands from the warmth of his coat pockets and amended "- this hour? And in this weather?" He shifted in his coat, trying to keep off the invading cold. "I hate the cold."

Neal shook his head sadly and muttered something that Peter couldn't hear, but it sounded suspiciously like "grinch".

"What was that?"

"Do you steal presents from little kids, too?" Neal asked. He shot Peter a charming smile that the FBI agent didn't buy for a second, and he looked entirely too warm in that ridiculous black wool jacket of his, and that stupid hat. Neal looked over at him with a grin and pulled his hands out of his coat pockets to reveal matching black gloves.

Peter groaned internally. Of course he didn't think of gloves when he left this morning, but Caffrey, Caffrey thought of everything.

Neal stretched nonchalantly and clasped his fingers behind his head, turning to observe the scenery as they walked, everything dusted in a fine, cold sheet of snow.

Peter mentally counted down the seconds in his head. Three, two, one...

"So," Neal began, right on cue. Peter almost smiled. "Have you picked out a Christmas gift for Elizabeth yet?"

Peter's lips immediately pulled down into a frown. Neal caught the expression and gave him a look that was part disappointment and part astonishment. "Don't tell me you haven't?" His blue eyes were wide with frustrated disbelief. "Come_ on_, Peter! It's almost_ Christmas Eve _and you're telling me you haven't found a Christmas present for your wife yet?" He raised his eyebrows and his blue eyes sparked in thought. "Come to think of it, what are you still doing here? You should be home with her, right now."

Peter leveled his younger partner with a warning look and pointed a finger at him scoldingly. "Don't you tell me where I should be, Caffrey. Do you really want to go the comparison route again?" Neal went quiet. Peter smirked. "I didn't think so. And we've been working this case, that's why I'm still here walking around in the cold with you, instead of home having dinner with my wife. And what has all this gotten us? Nothing but a waste of time! Our trail has gone cold and our guy could be hundreds of miles away by now with a priceless collection of bond stamps."

The con man stopped suddenly and looked over at his partner with wide eyes. "Relax, Peter. I don't think he's even left the city."

"Why? What makes you say that?"

Neal smiled and tapped the side of his head. "Just trust me."

Peter gave him a sour look and Neal's eyes widened, all innocence and honesty. He shrugged his shoulders and lifted a gloved hand to point at something through the light mist of falling snow. "Or trust the van carrying our very own bond forging fugitive," he said cheekily. "Take your pick."

Peter followed Neal's pointing finger to the nondescript teal-green van caught knee-deep in a snowdrift. The break lights were on and the tires were screeching desperately, spraying streams of wet slush and snow into the air as the driver tried to peel away from the bank. It had out-dated New Jersey plates and the only thing that told the FBI agent it was the same van their wittiness had reported seeing their man take off in was the tell-tale dent on the left rear side, just behind the gas cap where the van had side-swiped a taxi cab when peeling out of the crime scene.

Neal was still grinning at him.

Peter returned the con man's grin with one of his own. "Well I'll be damned," he breathed. "It's a Christmas miracle." He walked forward briskly now, cold forgotten, hand reaching into his coat to withdraw his gun.

"I thought you didn't believe in miracles," Neal took a quick step up behind him and then stopped short.

"Peter!" He shouted in warning.

Peter turned towards his partner and saw Neal standing at the curb looking at him with horrified blue eyes. He looked like a deer in headlights.

Too later Peter Burke realized that _he_ was the deer in headlights. He had reached the back of the teal van just as the wheels slipped free of their icy prison, only the car wasn't trying to go forward, it was going in _reverse._

"Peter, watch out!"

The call came too late as the van barreled backward into the FBI agent with a sickening thud and Neal heard a sharp crack that could only be Peter's head hitting the pavement before the van peeled away and disappeared into the night.

Peter heard Neal shouting as everything went black.

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**A/N: Sorry it's short! The next chapters are longer, I just figured this would be a good place to end it. (: Tell me if you're interested in seeing more, the next chapter should be up sometime tomorrow! **

**Happy Holidays,**

**Agni  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: not mine!

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Peter was screaming.

Neal raced to his partner's side and crouched in the snow and the slush, not caring for once that he was obviously ruining a Devore.

"Peter!" he shouted, looking anxiously down at him but afraid to touch him. He was numb with shock and cold and afraid to move the other man because he had heard that moving an injured person, without knowing the extent of their injuries first, most often did more harm than good.

Agent Burke's eyes were closed but Neal could thankfully see his chest rising and falling. He wasn't dead. Yet. Neal really didn't want it to get to that point.

The ex-con ran his hands through his hair and grimaced as he felt a slickness wet his scalp. Startled and curious he drew his hands up to his face in what little light was provided by the overhanging moon and his breath hitched painfully when he realized they were covered in blood.

"Oh no," he cursed under his breath and bent close to the ground to carefully observe the frozen pavement in front of him on which Peter was lying, half-conscious and mumbling nonsense. His heart lurched when he noticed the dark stain spreading from under the FBI agent's head.

He was on his hands and knees at that point and the slush soaking through his well-tailored suit was the least of his worries. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on Peter's head, trying to search for the cause of the blood without touching him or moving him.

Peter shifted and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to open his eyes. Neal was disappointed that he kept them closed but then the wounded man grumbled something unintelligibly and tried to move.

Quick as a flash, Neal had pressed his hands down on Peter's shoulders in panic. "No, Peter!" he shouted, a hint of panic in his voice. "Don't move!" He wasn't sure how badly his partner had hit his head but the ground was slick with ice and blood and Neal wasn't going to take any chances.

Peter grumbled something again and Neal thought he could make out the word "van".

"Forget the van, Peter!" Neal's blue eyes were wide and frightened but Peter wasn't really awake and in no position to tell him how to handle this. "What do I do?" he asked in vain. "You're bleeding!"

Peter shifted again and Neal put more pressure on his shoulders to keep him on the ground, but Peter wasn't trying to get up. Neal saw the agent's hand reaching blindly at his pocket and understood.

"Pharghh," Peter mumbled and Neal would have laughed if he wasn't absolutely terrified.

Without another moment's hesitation the ex-con snatched the phone from Peter's pocket and then stared for a moment at the screen, debating who to call. He knew 9-11 would be the obvious answer, and he knew he would call them, but he was a former criminal, after all, and when faced with a list of people to call in emergencies, the authorities didn't really top the list. He debated calling Mozzie, or even Elizabeth, but he realized he would have to call an ambulance if he wanted Peter to live. The agent's survival was best left in the care of professionals.

Wasting another precious moment in conflict, he finally dialed the 9-11, waiting for the operator.

"9-11, what is your emergency?"

He froze at the sound of the voice coming through the phone, relief and panic crashing through him so fast that for a moment he couldn't speak. The operator repeated the question and the situation crashed down on him.

"I've got a man down!" he shouted into the receiver and it was sad he couldn't fully appreciate the saying; he had always wanted to say that. "We're on –" Neal glanced around quickly to assess their location. "the corner of Seventh and Eighth." The relief he felt at finally having a chance of assistance loosened his tongue. "He was hit by a van and his head is bleeding and he isn't making any sense and-" he looked over at Peter to find the agent had stopped breathing. "Peter!" he swallowed and remained still until the bleeding man shifted again before turning back to the phone. "- hurry."

"Calm down sir," the voice on the other end of the line reassured him. "Help is on the way."

Neal breathed a sigh of relief and politely declined the operator's offer of waiting on the line with him until the ambulances arrived; he was too distressed to make polite conversation. He thanked the woman and was about to hang up, but the voice drifted through the phone again.

"Sir, wait a minute. You said that his head was bleeding?"

Neal paused. "Yes," he said uncertainly. "I think it's bad."

"Don't let him fall asleep, sir. Keep him awake until help arrives." There was the firm, reassuring command of authority in her voice and surprisingly far from unnerved, Neal was relieved for it. He thanked her again and was quick to hang up, eager to get back to his bleeding friend. He shut the phone and it tightly in his hands like a lifeline. Peter had stopped mumbling and was breathing somewhat uneasily.

Remembering the operator's advice, he jolted into action. Leaning over Peter to check his breathing and less than pleased to find it thin, the ex-con put a hand on the agent's shoulder and shook him frantically.

Peter roused grumbling and tried to escape the disturbance. Not to be deterred, Neal slapped Peter's cheek

"Hey, Peter! Peter wake up!" There was a note of frantic terror in his voice. "You can't go to sleep! C'mon, don't do this."

Agent Burke moaned and turned his face away but Neal was determined and kept on him.

"Come on, Peter," he pleaded. "Think of Elizabeth! You can't do this to her, I won't let you. And what about me? If you die I'll go back to prison and that wouldn't be beneficial to either of us!"

"Of course you would only be worried about yourself at a time like this," Peter croaked, only he wasn't very much in control of tongue right now so it sounded more like: "o'rse 'ou ouldbahworrdbutrself ahh." But Neal managed to fill in blanks and he was glad Peter was talking at all.

He flashed his partner a charming grin and said, "Welcome back to the land of the living."

The other man made a noncommittal grunt that wasn't quite a response but it was something. Neal slapped his cheek again just to be sure and Peter moved his head away with a very clear and forceful, "Knock it off!"

Neal grinned cheekily in response.

"There's the old Peter Burke," he said to himself.

Agent Burke fell quiet again and suddenly went limp.

"Peter!" he shouted in alarm. "Wake up, dammit!" He shook the agent's shoulder harshly stopping only when he realized he could be doing more damage than good. "I'll…I'll go after Kate!" he threatened. "You know I will." It wasn't exactly a lie and they both knew it. But unfortunately one of them was incapacitated and couldn't respond even if he wanted to.

"I'll leave right now, that's it, I'm getting up now…"

No response.

"Dammit," he muttered. But there was a thoughtful pause at the end of the curse, the realization dawning on him now after the words were spoken that he could, in fact, go after Kate. Of course there was still the tracker to contend with, but with Peter for all intents and purposes out of commission, he was closer to freedom now than he had ever been since being released into the FBI's custody.

His blue eyes were wide, looking between the road ahead of them - a road he could easily slip down now that he knew help was on the way, after all the medics would tend to Peter and he could be just fine - and the injured and bleeding FBI agent who had put him in jail and then gotten him out again, to whom he more or less belonged for the next four years.

The thought of cutting that sentence short, of gaining his freedom, was a shining beckoning light that took Neal everything in him to resist it. The thought of freedom, the freedom to find Kate, was tantalizing, tempting him, but - he looked over at Peter again.

Not at the expense of his friend. Neal Caffrey was a lot of things, but heartless wasn't one of them. And somewhere along the line he had come to think of Agent Peter Burke as his friend. He didn't know when it happened, but it had (and he had a sneaking suspicion that he may have been thinking it even before he was released into the agent's custody. At least, if not friend, then someone he would always be there, only now he wasn't chasing him with intent to put him behind bars, in fact, he was doing everything in his powers to keep him out. Neal appreciated the irony.)

The ex-con ran a hand through his hair, conflicting emotions pulling at him, one invisible hand dragging him inevitably towards Kate and the other… Neal sighed. A sudden absence of sound pulled him out of his reverie with a sharp, cold feeling of fear. Peter had stopped breathing.

All thoughts of Kate and great escapades to Paris or obscure but beautiful Mediterranean isles flew from his mind and the only image there now was one of Peter, pale and drawn and _lifeless_ and oh so very _wrong_. Peter was supposed to be the strong one, the one always telling Neal it was time to "cowboy up" and move on, the one who had earned a respected position with the FBI in New York City and the one risking throwing it all away everyday he trusted Neal to keep to the deal and refuse to run.

He shook Peter again, frantically, shouting nonsense, anything that would get him to stir and cause him to open his eyes and give Neal that stern, almost parental, glare that he had gotten so used to seeing in the past few weeks.

"I'm still here, Peter! And I'm not leaving until you wake up and stay awake. I'll…" he was running low on threats and all in all he wasn't a very threatening person but he didn't know what else would get the man to wake up. If not threats, then maybe promises. Promises he probably wouldn't be able to keep, but promises that would be compelling enough for Peter to hold on just for a few moments more until help arrived.

The average New York City emergency response time was four and a half minutes. It had to have been at least two minutes and thirty seconds since he ended that call and it could have been more as he lost a few moments daydreaming about Kate.

Kate. Now there was a promise that would appeal to Peter.

"If you wake up, Peter, I promise I won't go after Kate." He couldn't promise that he would stop looking, nor could he promise to give up on her, but the first promise he could make; and if it came down to it, there were plenty of loopholes in that promise to find one big enough to slip through. Besides, if Peter Burke died here Neal would be sent back to prison, this much he knew without a doubt. None of the other agents in the FBI would tackle the potentially job-threatening (and now, life-threatening) hurdle that is Neal Caffrey. He would get sent back to prison and this time it would be for life. Nothing would matter then.

"I'll tell you where the caches are, Peter. All of them. I swear. Just…wake up." He was getting tired, making promises he wasn't sure he would be able to keep and hoping that the subject never arose or Hell - hoping it did, because that would mean Peter would be alive to bring it up with him and that would make everything okay.

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**A/N: Ohhh, those promises might come back and bite you, Caffrey. **

**Alright guys, here's chapter two, as promised. I've got one more chapter typed up at the moment which I'll post when I get home from the city tomorrow. The street they're on -- seventh and eighth? There's some exhibit there that I'm going to see tomorrow, I'll be sure to keep my eye out for any strange teal vans! :D **

**I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas! Thanks for all the reviews, keep 'em coming! Now I'm going to go back to playing my Kingdom Hearts 358/2 days game and leave you to it.  
**

**'Till tomorrow, **

**Agni**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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He sat dejectedly in the snow by Peter's side for what felt like an eternity before he caught the sound of fast-approaching medical vehicles. The ambulance arrived moments later and Neal and Peter were swallowed by a sea of paramedics, prodding and rushing around and asking questions. One of them must have pulled a stretcher from the truck and another followed with various medical equipment, but Neal was lost to his own thoughts, most of them on Peter.

"Sir," one paramedic said, and repeated it until he got Caffrey's attention. "Sir you have to move." He gestured to himself and to Peter who lay behind Neal and the ex-con gave the man a sharp, indignant look. The medic gave him a sympathetic look. "I know he's your friend, but we can't treat him if you're in the way."

Finally seeing sense, Neal reluctantly moved from his post. He climbed slowly to his feet as the effect of the numbing cold finally gripped him. When he moved away towards the flashing lights of the ambulance, his teeth were chattering and there was ice in his hair.

"Are you the one who called, sir?" a paramedic standing by the ambulance's open back doors hailed him over. She handed Neal a warm blanket and the ex-con took it gratefully, wrapping it snugly around his shoulders. He turned to watch the other emergency personnel check Peter's vitals and put pressure on the head wound. Neal winced as if the wound was on his head when the medic's expert fingers brushed the spot and Peter jerked away reflexively.

The medic who had hailed him over repeated her question and Neal turned to her apologetically.

"Will he be okay?" he asked without answering, blue eyes wide and pleading. She gave him an understanding nod.

"Your friend hit his head pretty hard," she said. She caught sight of the blood on his hands. "What did you say happened, sir?"

"I didn't," Neal answered, suddenly wary. "He was hit by a van," he continued. "We were after …" Neal paused and decided he probably shouldn't be spilling FBI case secrets without Peter's authorization; it wasn't like he was giving a statement to the police. But he was saved the problem of continuing when the medic interrupted,

"'You were after'?" she quoted dubiously, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

Neal flashed a charming smile and stuck out a slightly bloody hand, before remembering the blood and hastily withdrawing it. "Neal Caffrey, I'm a consultant for the FBI. You may have heard of me." He winked but the stern paramedic's stony facade didn't crack. Obviously she hadn't heard of him. "That's Special Agent Peter Burke." He nodded in Peter's direction.

"Uh huh," she said, sounding unimpressed.

"Anyway," he continued earnestly. "We were after Daring. Peter thought he had already fled the country, or at least the city. And then we found his van." He grinned a Cheshire grin. "It was stuck in a snow bank."

"Lucky."

"Yeah, not so much." He admitted.

The medic gave him a sympathetic nod before she was called away by the others and she rushed off, leaving Neal alone. He pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders, feeling useless. He watched the medics scramble about. They had Peter strapped onto a stretcher and looked about ready to load him into the ambulance.

It struck Neal then that it would be a good time to call Elizabeth and let her know what had happened. He hated the idea of troubling her with this news, on Christmas eve, no less, but she would be even more upset if no one told her what happened and she was left to wonder. He knew she would want to hear it from him.

He reached into his pocket and was momentarily surprised when his hand emerged with Peter's phone instead of his own, but then he remembered that his phone had died earlier in the day and he had taken Peter's phone to call 9-11. The screen flashed with '1 missed call' and Neal didn't have to think very hard to guess who had called. His stomach twisted with guilt. If Peter had just gone home to have dinner with his wife, he would never have come across Daring's van and gotten himself in this situation.

Neal shook off the self-blame and turned his attention to the matter at hand. He needed to call Elizabeth. As he flipped the phone open to dial, however, a hand tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Sir," it was the voice of authority. Neal turned around to find a man in an NYPD uniform staring back at him. "The paramedic informed me that you were the one who made the call?" Neal nodded affirmative. "We're going to need a statement."

The ex-con looked over his shoulder at the ambulance in alarm, noting that they were loading him into the ambulance. A restlessness seized him and he bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet as he turned to look back at the cop with wide blue eyes.

"Can't you just get it from her?" he pleaded. "Shouldn't I go with him?"

"Relax, kid," the cop assured him. "Your friend should be fine. That head wound_ looks_ nasty, but head wounds tend to bleed a lot. You kept him awake until the medics got here, that's important."

"I can keep him awake on the way to the hospital, too," Neal offered hopefully. He was hoping to get out of giving a statement because things could get dicey if the cop learned who he was while Peter wasn't there to back him up. His probation was tenuous as it was. And besides, he didn't want to leave Peter alone, if only for Elizabeth's sake.

"Can't I just give the statement tomorrow?" he looked back at the ambulance again, anxiously and then he turned and gave the cop his best wide-eyed stare -- it always seemed to work on Peter.

For a long moment, the man stared him down and Neal flashed a hopeful smile, ready to turn on his heel and make a dash for the ambulance with or without the policeman's permission. Thankfully for his record, the cop finally sighed and motioned to the ambulance with an impatient wave of his hand.

"All right kid, you can come down to the station tomorrow and find me. Detective Morrison," he said. "And as for riding with your friend, you'll have to ask them." He nodded to the paramedics.

Neal flashed detective Morrison a parting grin and with a quick, heartfelt "Thank you, Merry Christmas!" he bounded over to the ambulance.

"--hey, hey kid!"

Neal turned back to look over his shoulder at Morrison curiously. He had bent to pick something from the snow and was dusting it off with his hand. He held it up to Neal when he looked back and grinned wryly.

"You forgot your hat."

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**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I was in the city yesterday and exhausted when I got home. But here's your update now! This is it for the stuff already typed, but I've got the next chapter written out and waiting to be typed. That one should be up sometime tomorrow. Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. I'm glad you like the story. :D **

**Agni  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait, life got in the way.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

* * *

When Peter regained consciousness, he could hear the steady beep of machinery and the whispering of two other people, conversing in low whispers not too far away.

His head was killing him. This was worse than a really bad hangover, and he was pretty hard-headed when it came to his alcohol, so he had had blessed few of those. He felt like he got hit by a bus.

"Actually, it was a van." A voice chimed in from the doorway. Peter groaned and opened his eyes, wincing as the harsh florescent lights blinded him and set his temples pounding. He shut his eyes tightly to block it out and when he managed to open his eyes again, Neal was standing at the foot of his bed, still dressed like a cartoon with that ridiculous hat. The ex-con smiled at him.

"Hey, partner." Peter groaned and pressed a hand to his head to try and stop the pounding in his temples.

"What happened?"

"You got hit by a van."

Peter somehow managed to give the con man an annoyed look, squinting up through the harsh brightness of the hospital lights.

"What happened to _Daring_?" he repeated.

Neal made an "oh" face and amended, "He got away."

Peter fell back against the pillows and shut his eyes. "Great."

Neal shrugged but he didn't look too unhappy, Peter realized, when he opened his eyes again. In fact, the kid seemed kind of subdued. "It could have been worse," Neal said quietly, staring solemnly at Peter. "You could have been killed."

Agent Burke shot him an accusatory glare. "If I recall, you were more worried about what would happen to _you_," he said drily.

The ex-con held his gaze. "I stayed, didn't I?" he challenged.

Peter's glare softened. "Yeah," he admitted, but then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What was in it for you?"

Neal's blue eyes grew hard and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. "Is it so had to believe I stayed because I cared?" He glared at his partner for a few moments before throwing up his hands and stalking towards the window, where he glared out at the scenery with his back to Peter.

"About not going back to prison, maybe," Peter quipped before mentally berating himself. Neal's shoulders slumped and Peter couldn't help but feel guilty for baiting the kid. After a few tense moments of silence he sighed heavily and nodded once, grimacing at the sudden swimming sensation. "Okay," he relented. "I'm sorry, that was –"

"—heartless?" Peter gaped at him but the younger man had turned around to face him and there was a familiar grin on his face. He had to fight back the urge to roll his eyes, but he couldn't fight back a smile.

"Yeah," he admitted. The two of them fell into silence and Neal took the visitor's chair by the window, folding himself gracefully into the uncomfortable chair with a ridiculous amount of ease.

Eventually Neal looked up and said, "The police still need a statement of what happened."

_And there go your brownie points, _Peter thought, saying aloud, "You didn't give them one?" his tone was one he found himself using more and more often with Caffrey. Incredulousness tinged with annoyance.

"I went with you." Neal said, eyes wide with innocence.

"Neal, it would have taken five seconds!" Peter snapped, feeling a headache coming to life inside his temples. "You just had to make this more complicated, didn't you?"

But Neal ignored him. "The ambulance was leaving and besides, I'm not exactly on the top of the NYPD's Good Samaritan list."

Agent Burke bit back the retort on his tongue when he realized the logic in that. "Good point," he relented grudgingly. "So, how long was I out?"

"Oh, a few weeks," Neal's blue eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Neal…"

"Relax, Peter. It's only been a few hours." He sighed and muttered, "killjoy."

Peter visibly relaxed. He looked around his room then and noticed Elizabeth's purse and coat on the visitor's chair by the bed. Neal followed his gaze.

"I called her once I got here and she rushed right over. She just stepped out for a cup of coffee," he said before Peter could ask.

Peter accepted this news with a soft, affectionate smile for his wife. He really was a lucky man. He looked up at Neal, unconsciously reaching for the back of his head.

"So what's the verdict?"

"My guess is they'll keep you here for the next few days, at least. The doctors Elizabeth talked to said as much. They need to rule out concussion and allow you to heal. You had to get staples, you know. You cracked your head pretty bad." Neal looked down at his feet. "The doctor's say you were lucky."

"_This_ is lucky?" Peter exclaimed, waving a hand to indicate the hospital bed and all the machinery. "I got hit by a van, _you_ skip out on the police statement and I'm confined here while our man drives hundreds of miles away! He's bound to be out of the country by now…"

"Remind me never to let you get hit by a van again," Neal interrupted, a mischievous light in his blue eyes. "You complain too much."

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Anyway," he sighed. "We've lost him."

Neal looked alarmed. "The last time you said that you almost ended up road kill." He tried to smile but it didn't reach his eyes. Peter grumbled something like, "oh, that's real nice," but he was distracted by Neal, who was glancing around the room with wide eyes. His gaze finally rested on the window and he was looking at it as though afraid the teal van would come crashing through it, despite the fact that they were on the third floor.

Neal shook off the daze and turned to Peter with a frown. He could tell the agent's mind was still on Daring.

"Forget about Daring, Peter. Just rest. He's gone, there's nothing you can do."

Peter gave his partner a stern glance. "Don't tell me how to do my job, Caffrey."

Neal shook his head. "I'm telling you _not_ how to not do your job. Just let it go," he repeated in a quiet voice. Peter seethed in angry silence, but Neal wasn't worried; the anger wasn't for him. He thought it over and perked up, blue eyes shining with a tell-tale light. "Unless," he offered "they let me work the case without you."

But Peter was already shaking his head.

"No dice, Deano. Hughes won't let that fly and you know it." Peter looked as though he was hoping he was wrong, but there was resignation in his voice. Finally, he shook his head, ending the conversation.

Neal let the matter rest, for now. He shrugged the words off genially and tried to avoid thinking about the Bureau's irritating lack of trust. "So," he said instead, hands in his pocket. "What do I do now?"

It was a loaded question and something that needed to be confronted. Because Peter was right, without him there Hughes wouldn't let Neal fly solo and he couldn't ask another agent to bear the burden. Peter sighed again and ran a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed the bandage on his head. He scowled.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I need to call Hughes." His head snapped up suddenly, eyes finding Neal standing just as before. He gave the ex-con a stern look. "Don't think you get out of work. You're still going to the Bureau tomorrow. I'll assign Jones to keep an eye on you."

Neal gave his partner a pained look. "Paperwork?"

"Sorry kiddo. I know paperwork's not your game, but too bad."

"Time to 'cowboy up'?" Neal guessed.

Peter nodded. Neal groaned. "Great."

The FBI agent shot him a look. "Hey, at least you're not the one in the hospital bed."

"I think I'd rather be."

"Or you could go back to prison," Peter offered, mouth twitching into a grin.

Neal turned on his heel in exasperation, facing the door. "You see what he does to me?" he exclaimed, to Elizabeth, Peter realized, who was standing at the door with a paper cup of coffee in her hand and a grin on her face. Neal sounded very much like a tattling two year old. There was a definite sulking slump to his shoulders. Peter realized that he was working his puppy-dog charm on his wife, who took it in with sympathy only Elizabeth can muster.

"Aw, sweetie, he doesn't mean it."

Peter grumbled. Sure, _he_ was the one in the hospital bed and his wife was comforting his partner – his _ex-con_ partner for that matter!

"Next you'll have my wife skipping out on police statements," the agent groused, but there was humor in his voice.

"That's the plan," Elizabeth chirped, laughing at her husband's incredulous look. She moved over to the bed and placed a hand gently on top of his. "Relax, honey. The criminal world hasn't gotten to me yet." She kissed the top of his bandaged head and he gave her a breathless smile, before shaking his head with a small laugh.

Neal grinned hopefully at them. "Does this mean I don't have to give that police statement?"

Peter shot him a stern, tell-tale glance and he sighed in resignation. Elizabeth looked over at him.

"Detective Morrison?"

Neal stared at her in surprise. "How'd you know?"

She winked at him and brought the cup of coffee to her lips. "I met him in the coffee shop downstairs," she nodded towards the door and Neal turned around just as the detective himself stepped into the room. He rapped on the door with his knuckles as he passed to let them know he was there, but the motion was unnecessary because all three of them were already looking in his direction.

"I told him you were up here," Elizabeth murmured, a little unsurely. Her blue eyes seemed to ask, _is that alright?_

Neal beamed at her in thanks.

Detective Morrison cleared his throat and glanced at Peter and Elizabeth in apology. "I apologize for the intrusion," he stated and then turned to Neal, who greeted him with a polite wave. "I thought since I was here, I'd save you the trouble of coming down to the station, Mr….?"

"Caffrey," Neal said, grinning at the Detective's startled expression.

"Don't worry, Detective, he works for the law now," Peter cut in. Morrison glanced from Peter to Neal and finally covered his shock with a brisk, professional nod.

"I can understand your unease then," he offered. "But I'm sure you wouldn't mind…?" he trailed off and motioned towards the door, his eyes still on Neal.

Neal looked to Peter and Elizabeth as though asking their permission and Peter nodded. Neal fell in step behind the detective. Their conversation became muffled as they headed out the door. Peter sighed as the door shut behind them, leaning his back onto his wife's shoulder, his eyes sliding shut.

Elizabeth could tell something was troubling him, and by now she had learned that most of those things usually involved Neal.

"He had the chance to run and he didn't take it," she assured him gently.

"Running would have made him look guilty," Peter argued. "Neal knows that."

"Of course he does, but he stayed with you and skipped on the statement to ride with you here." She combed her fingers through his hair and went on before he could argue that point, too. "He doesn't have to be here right now, you know. But he came to visit you; that should count for something."

"Yeah, I guess it does." He relented, opening his eyes and straightening up as Neal came back into the room looking significantly relieved. He gave Elizabeth a grateful glance which she accepted with a warm smile.

"I'm glad that's over."

--

The three of them exchanged pleasant chatter for the rest of the afternoon, and sometime in the middle of it all Peter drifted back to sleep. Eventually Neal grew restless, though he tried hard to hide it, Elizabeth could see the way his blue eyes darted around the room and she figured he was eager to be outside. Finally Elizabeth had had enough and stood from the chair she had taken by the window once Peter fell asleep.

"Neal," her voice stopped his pacing and he looked up at her in surprise, stopping in place. "Go home," she said gently. "Get something to eat, you've been here since this morning."

Neal hesitated, his blue eyes indecisive. "Are you sure? I'm not really hungry and—" he trailed off at Elizabeth's knowing stare. "Alright," he relented and she grinned in triumph. "I'm starving, and no offense, but hospital food isn't really my thing." He glanced at the empty tray on the rolling table by Peter's bed in disgust.

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face and quickly covered her mouth. "Go on," she urged. "he's not going anywhere." Neal nodded at her and turned towards the door but before he hesitated on the threshold when Elizabeth's voice halted him.

"Neal."

He looked back at her.

"Don't forget, Peter wants you to show up at the Bureau tomorrow." There was a protective edge to her tone and her blue eyes caught and held his. "Don't skip out on him, Neal."

Neal nodded solemnly at her and gave his sleeping partner one final glance. "I won't, Elizabeth. I promise."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, this chapter wasn't pre-written and I had a hard time finding time and motivation for it with all the school stuff going on. So here it is, a little late. Not very exciting, I'm afraid. I've started the fifth chapter already, so we'll see how long it takes for that one. I'll have some free time in the coming weeks, so hopefully it won't be so long of wait. Reviews are loved, as always. **

_  
_**And_ White Collar_ comes back a week from today! Who else is super-excited? I heard the premier is an hour and a half long, and there are still fourteen episodes to go. I can't wait. **

**Agni  
**


	5. Chapter 5

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," a voice announced, moments before Mozzie walked through the door with a stack of files in his hands, dressed in a mismatching suit that would have made Neal cringe if he wasn't already so attuned to his friend's odd sense of style.

"You know, I never really liked that saying," Neal called in response from his seat at the dining room table. He held the bottle reverently in his hands, rolling the familiar worn glass back and forth between his palms.

Mozzie shook his head in disappointment. "Your time with the feds has lessened your appreciation for the subtle grace of the American proverb."

"Actually, I've never really appreciated the proverb, Moz." Neal placed the bottle carefully back on the table and looked up to find his friend spreading the files at the other end of the table. "So what'd you find?"

The other man glanced up, hand paused on a file as though waiting on a cue. He lifted the file with an enigmatic smile in Neal's direction.

"Our friend Daring has an interesting past."

"I'm interested," Neal said, leaning forward across the table to snatch the file eagerly from Mozzie's fingers, eliciting an exasperated look from the other man.

"Don't you have any patience?"

Neal shrugged unapologetically, already flipping the folder open to peruse its contents. "I'm a criminal, Moz. We're not exactly known for our virtues."

"Ah, reformed criminal," Mozzie reminded him. "But true enough. If you read, you'll find that Daring agrees quite heartily with that assessment. He's been charged with everything from larceny to embezzlement to mortgage fraud-" Neal pulled a face, Mozzie continued rattling off the list. "Forgery, impersonation of law enforcement…this guy is all over the map. He's like a modern day Abagnale."

"Tell me something I don't know, Moz." Neal answered, trying to spur his friend along. He was as reliable as valuable – if sometimes legally questionable – sources of information got, but he had a process to go through before revealing the goods. A long process. It could be endearing at times, but this was not one of them. "I got all that from the file at the Bureau. He's been in and out of prison half a dozen times. He's good at what he does, but he's sloppy. He got cocky, and he got caught."

"Sound like anyone you know?"

Neal shot him an annoyed look. "What else have you got? Just the facts, Moz."

Mozzie shook his head sadly. "No appreciation of the climactic build-up," he mourned with a sigh. "Have it your way, but-" he added, suddenly inspired. "Did your file at the den of inequity-"

"The 'den of inequity'?" Neal quoted with a grimace. The other man shrugged unapologetically.

"It's a working title." He defended.

"It needs more work."

"-Did your fancy FBI file mention that Daring isn't even his real last name?" Mozzie shot back haughtily.

Neal's attention snapped back to him, his blue eyes wide with renewed interest.

"It's an alias?" he asked, and his incredulous tone caused Mozzie to smile in triumph. He still had one over on the feds; not that he'd been worried.

"The file never mentioned that…" Neal muttered absently to himself, blue eyes looking troubled.

"That's right!" he declared proudly, presenting the documented proof with a flourish. "You put too much faith in the system, my friend."

Neal scanned the paper and handed it back, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head.

"So, any leads on his real name?" he asked, killing Mozzie's high. The smaller man sighed and held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

"You want everything, don't you?" he continued before Neal could answer. "I've got people working on it. This guy is no amateur, Neal." He warned, tone serious. "He's been at this longer than you have."

Neal remembered Peter saying the same thing when they had gone over Daring's case file during the briefing. Only now, the warning held merit. Peter was in the hospital and Daring was responsible; Neal had seen the whole thing with his own two eyes, the warning was hardly necessary.

"He doesn't seem to have any qualms about running down FBI agents, either," Neal added coldly. His eyes darkened and his hands curled slightly around the edges of the table.

"That's what worries me," he confessed, voice tight.

Mozzie turned to look at him. "Afraid that you'll be next?"

"No" Neal shook his head, still frowning. "It just doesn't fit in with the rest of his profile. Sure, he's swindled a lot of people, but he's never been so openly aggressive. Running down a federal agent is a serious crime. Why take that kind of risk?"

"Taking up mind-hunting?" Moz asked with a hint of amusement. But the focused look in Neal's eyes told him he was still milling it over.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he continued when Neal made no move to answer. "He was about to be caught. He was desperate." He met Neal's eyes over the rim's of his glasses in a solemn stare. "What would you have done?"

Neal shook his head. "Not this, Moz." His voice was quiet but his knuckles were white on the table and Mozzie didn't miss the shadow that fell over his friend's usually light blue eyes. "Not this."

And that was the truth. That just wasn't who Neal was. He might find the cons thrilling, might thrive on the challenge of out-witting the authorities, but there was nothing thrilling about bloodshed, about hurting another human being just because he could. He shuddered lightly.

"Maybe it was an accident?"Mozzie suggested, but it was obvious Neal wasn't listening. He had gone still in his seat, his gaze fixed blankly ahead in a glassy stare as the scene from the other day replayed in his mind.

How they had happened upon Daring's van by chance, caught in a snowdrift. How they had thought their luck had changed, and how all of that changed with a flash of red brake lights – their only warning, one that came too late because then Daring was speeding away, six months of investigating gone in a second, and Peter had crumpled to the ground.

And there was blood. So much blood, crimson and warm, on Peter's head and on Neal's hands, painting a mocking parody of Christmas cheer in the slush and the snow.

"-Neal?"

Neal snapped out of it, blinking quickly until his vision had cleared and the blood had faded, leaving only Mozzie sitting in his dining room at June's, and watching him with quiet concern on his face. Moz must have noted his confusion, because he repeated the question.

"No, it was definitely deliberate," Neal confirmed. "He knew Peter was there."

"How is the suit, by the way?"

"He's getting better," Neal answered, somewhat distracted. "He's going to be out for at least a week…" he trailed off and the room lapsed into silence.

Moz glanced at him in alarm. "And what happens to you?" he asked.

"Wait-" Neal interjected suddenly, making Mozzie jump. He looked up to meet his friend's startled eyes with renewed interest. "You said two birds."

Mozzie wasn't following. "What?"

"You said 'one bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.," the ex-con insisted, leaning forward in earnest, blue eyes sparkling. "Who's the second bird?"

Mozzie's momentarily confusion cleared, replaced by something like relief. A slow smile grew out of the corners of his mouth..

"Perhaps all hope isn't lost, after all. I feared your time with the suits had dulled your brain. You may have a chance ye-"

"-Moz."

"Right." He cleared his throat and took his time adjusting his glasses, to the point where Neal was ready to ask again, before he withdrew a single piece of paper from the folds of his coat and pushed it in front of him. It was a crumpled mess; a sheet from a small legal pad lined with Mozzie's meticulous coded scrawl.

Neal looked up at him in exasperation for the mess, but Moz just indicated the paper impatiently.

"This is where it gets interesting."

After Mozzie left, Neal found himself pacing the apartment; back and forth. He stopped only when he remembered June admonishing him for it a few weeks earlier. He could still hear her voice, kind but firm.

"_You're going to wear a hole right through my floorboards if you keep that up."_ And what she'd said afterwards, a kindness she hadn't been required to extend, _"Don't worry. Whatever is bothering you, it'll work out. You'll see."_

He found her words comforting, oddly appropriate even now. He closed his eyes and let them sink in, as he tried to convince himself to believe them.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. "You're not going to submit to the suits, are you?" Mozzie had questioned his plans for the day, before taking his leave at Neal's answer with a sympathetic shake of his head and a philosophical warning about a bird in a gilded cage.

Despite his promise to Elizabeth, Neal still found himself deliberating on whether or not he was going in to work.

Well, not exactly. He knew deep down, in the part of his brain that recognized when he made a pact he was planning to keep, that he was going in. Con man or reformed FBI Consultant, Neal Caffrey always kept his promises. His word was rarely given honestly enough for it to matter, but when it was, he stuck to it.

But he tried not to think about it, because Neal Caffrey was also a man who valued his choices and right now, he really didn't have a choice. He had backed himself into a corner with this one; he had promised Elizabeth, surely, and he wasn't going back on that, but more than that, he didn't want to let Peter down. Peter's approval meant a lot more to him then he'd thought it would, and he was still taking time to adjust to that.

So he was going into work.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

When he walked through the doors into the bullpen he found Jones with the phone pressed to his ear. He glanced over at Neal as he took a seat at his desk and then spoke quickly into the phone. Neal was close enough to catch the words.

"Yeah boss, he's here." Jones glanced down at his wrist. "Eight o' clock, on the dot."

"Of course I'm here," he called to Jones, stepping up to the agent's desk as he ended the call. Of course Peter would call to check in on him when he should be resting. Neal rolled his eyes. "Did you tell Peter I said hi?" he asked with a slight quirk of the lips.

"Told him you came in," Jones nodded to him in greeting, before looking upwards. Neal followed his eyes up the ramp to find Hughes standing imposingly outside his office, pointing two fingers in his direction. The ex-con glanced at Jones in surprise but the agent just shrugged.

"Duty calls," Neal told him, feeling apprehensive but hiding it with a smile. Hughes was very intimidating for a man his age, and Neal wasn't a man very easily intimidated, but something about the section chief always set his nerves on edge. This was a man with authority who wasn't afraid to pull all the stops.

Just before he reached the stairs, he caught Jones motioning to him from the corner of his eye. Catching on, he swiftly removed his hat and mouthed a quick 'thank you'; looking up in time to see Hughes' disapproving scowl before he vanished into his office, taking it on faith in his own authority that Neal would follow.

Again Neal found himself in a sticky situation with no way out. It seemed to be happening too frequently for his taste lately. But he had no choice but to follow, so he booked it up the stairs and slipped silently through the door before it had a chance to close.

Hughes was already speaking as he walked through the door.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Caffrey. I'm in a tough position here."

The ex-con remained quiet, wondering why Hughes always felt the need to stress that he wasn't lying, usually only when he was speaking to Neal. Neal seethed in silence at the unspoken accusation behind his words; It was _his _fault that Peter was in the hospital!

Hughed must have noticed the fire in Neal's eyes, because he amended: "I'm not blaming you, Peter's condition raises the question of what to do with you in the meantime. I can't spare an agent to watch you and - _put your hand down, Caffrey!"_

Neal obediently lowered his hand.

"You know," he started. "Peter shouldn't be out for more than a few days at most. Technically the doctors said at least a week but," he chuckled. "You know Peter. He'll be back before you know it."

Neal leaned back in the chair, arms folded leisurely behind his head, right leg folded over his left foot, his foot jiggling to an imaginary beat.

Under Huges' sharp, reproachful glare he stopped tapping and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"So I'll suffer through the paperwork all weekend and when Peter gets back we'll go back to working the Daring case," he continued casually. The request sounded reasonable, but apparently the section chief thought otherwise, because he vetoed the idea with a shake of his head.

"Sorry Caffrey," he said. "But Burke lost the Daring case. We turned the case over to Agent Ruiz yesterday."

Neal's eyes widened. "What? But-"

"No buts, Caffrey. Richard Daring is Organized Crime's problem now. Let it go."

"But what does Daring have to do with Organized Crime?" Neal argued, standing now. "No one was killed; there was no premeditated murder, it's still a white collar case!"

"Ruiz asked for the case personally and since Burke was pulled off of it, I handed it over. " Hughes frowned at him. "I don't need to waste agents chasing ghosts."

"He's not a ghost," Neal countered. "We could still be working the case! We could catch this guy, Hughes." All that earned him was a stony glare and Neal made a mental note to ask Peter how he should address the man. Hughes didn't seem like the type of man to be bothered over titles, but he acknowledged the fact that Neal was once a criminal and Neal bet it got under his skin to have a criminal addressing him like one of his own agents.

"You mean _you _could still be working the case," the section chief amended, earning a guilty downcast look from Neal that told him all he needed to know. Hughes shook his head again.

"I'm sorry, Caffrey. No Peter, no deal. Case closed. Let Ruiz handle Daring now. If Daring flees the country, then it's on his head, not mine." He sat back in his chair and shuffled through the papers on his desk, a clear sign of dismissal, but Neal wasn't ready to give up yet.

He stood and stepped forward impulsively placing both hands on the desk, his weight on his arms as he leaned forward.

"Hughes." There was a touch of desperation in his tone, but when the man looked up, Neal could see he was toeing a dangerous line. He wisely removed his hands from the desk, pushing away to stand with his hands in plain view; showing the section chief that he had taken nothing and was no longer touching his desk. The ex-con swallowed and decided to press his luck one more time.

"Look, I know we can crack this case. We've got this guy, just..." Neal ran a hand through his hair and turned a pleading look on the stern-faced man behind the desk. It always worked on Peter. "Just give us a little more time."

Hughes gave him a point blank stare. "Us as in you," he deadpanned.

Neal shrugged, unabashed. "Us, me, we, what's the difference?" He cracked a hopeful smile.

Hughes stared back at him, unamused and uncharmed and Neal managed a serious face.

"I'm not wasting valuable agents to cater to your whims, Caffrey. The FBI isn't your playground. You can't just do what you want, when you want. This is the real world."

"I thought the FBI left no man behind," he said, a flat-out accusation. "Don't you want to catch the guy responsible?"

Hughes frowned.

The air was thick with tension, a near-tangible battle for authority that crackled and growled while the room around them was choked with silence. Their eyes were locked, narrowed blue against stony brown as Neal silently goaded Hughes to take the challenge.

As the mental battle of will raged on, Neal's mind was whirring, covering the facts and thinking of ways to weave in and around the complications thrown his way. So, Hughed wouldn't assign any of his agents and he had already handed the case over to Ruiz this morning. Neal grimaced inwardly. Ruiz. Why in the world had Hughes handed the case over to Ruiz?

Or more to the point, why in the world had Ruiz wanted to take the case? Hughes said it himself, Daring was practically a ghost. They had happened upon him by pure chance the other day and hadn't caught wind of him since.

Wait a minute. Ruiz.

Neal's eyes lit up even as he stifled a groan. He offered the section chief his most disarming smile, managing this time to keep his elbows off the table as he leaned in close.

"Maybe you don't have to..."

* * *

**A/N: hey guys, sorry for such a long wait. Life got in the way. But things are finally picking up! I actually have a bit more written out that still needs typing, but I figured you might want some kind of update. The majority of this chapter has actually been written for close to a year, but I never got around to typing it until now. Anyway, chapter 6 will be a pretty blank slate for me, so it might take a while, especially with finals coming up and all. But finals also mean winter break, so I'm hoping I'll get another chapter up before Christmas. Thanks so much for the continued interest and support, even after so long. I won't give up on this story! **

**Agni**


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